White Dress
by Rasetsu
Summary: [On going] Red lipstick stain on a one hundred percent cotton. [Zoro x Nami]
1. White Dress

**White Dress  
**by Rasetsu

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situation created and owned by Eiichiro Oda and various publishers including but not limited to Shonen Jump and TV Tokyo. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Yet.

A/N: Inspired by Zoro's expression of dislike on the recent chp. 379 color spread. I'm delusional. First of two parts. Theme song: Miss Sarajevo by George Michael.

* * *

Here she comes. The beauty queen in her new dress. I am keeping my distance. I am turning my eyes away. But there is no time. My feet are keeping me planted, my brain is shutting down. 

Here she comes.

Heads turn around. Mine is not the only one. She is trapping me with that blinding white. And those long legs.

There's no time to look away. Here she comes.

To take her crown. To take her kill.

Here she comes.

* * *

I am putting on this dress because I want to see that look on your face. I am painting my lips red because I want to see their imprint on yours. There is no time to take cover. 

I got you. I got you the moment I slipped on this dress.

I got you the moment I finished applying red.

Here I come.

Don't look away.

Here I come.

* * *

I hate it. I hate it when everybody else is falling for you. 

That makes me no different than the others.

I can't like it.

I can't like your white dress.

Because everybody can see it.

* * *

This is the right dress to wear. This is the right shade of lipstick. 

I saw it in your face before you frown.

Before you throw that disdainful look.

It's okay.

I can wait.

* * *

Take a pause of breath...

* * *

It was an innocent dress with two thin straps. According to fashion experts, it was a look that would never go old. She'd bought the dress quite a while ago at some trade port which was positively unfriendly to pirates. That time, she hadn't known why she liked it so much. 

It felt soft against her skin. The saleslady had said that it was a hundred-percent-cotton. Its softness was comparable to that of a baby's bottom. Maybe it was that comment that had made Nami take out her wallet and part with her money.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was the way the dress made her feel like she was wearing nothing. It flowed with her, like liquid cotton that knew her curves well.

It fell just below her knees in waves of light fabric. She'd spent some secret hours spinning around in front of the mirror, laughing happily because she felt like a princess in that dress.

The problem was there were no princes anywhere to impress.

No, no princes indeed.

But there was always the _dragon_.

The sleeping green dragon.

Oh, he was a tough nut to crack. Forget the fact that princesses and mean, bullying dragons were not supposed to play the game of flirtations. It was the dragons' fault in the first place. Who told them to kidnap beautiful princesses, hm?

Why, the princesses themselves, the dragons said. It was their fault for being so bloody beautiful.

But nobody told the dragons to keep the princesses' hearts for themselves.

To this the dragons had no answers.

No, no. There were no princes around. But there was always the dragon.

One day, the princess caught a glimpse of something on the dragon's face when he was looking at her. Just a fleeting _something_, but it was enough to send warm tingles up her spine. When that treacherous warmth settled on her cheeks, he had turned away. His green scales protecting him from whatever damage she might have done to him.

It was his fault. Really. It was his doing that her heart skipped a beat. It was his gaze that made her feel like she was the only woman alive. It was him that made her unable to forget.

So she put on that white dress.

Just to see that look on his face again.

* * *

The red stain on her white dress had an interesting history. It was from her lipstick, but it wasn't from her lips. She couldn't get it off no matter how hard she tried. 

It was the dragon's fault.

If it weren't for his clumsiness, it would still be pristine white.

If he hadn't been blocking her way.

If he hadn't stood too close.

If the ship hadn't lurched at that moment.

If he hadn't caught her.

If his face hadn't been the only one she'd been able to see.

If the jolt had not brought their lips together, the white dress would not have a smear of red on its front.

Because then his face would have not turned an impressive red.

Because then he wouldn't have wiped his mouth.

On _her_ skirt.

See?

It was _all_ his fault.


	2. Les Idiots

He washed his face repeatedly, splashing water all over the washbasin. Ignoring the mess he was making, Zoro wiped his face and staggered out of the small bathroom. His three katanas were secured on his haramaki, but for once his mind wasn't on them.

He thought of long legs, of white thin limbs, and of stubborn red lipstick that would not leave his imagination. Inwardly he cursed the owner of those three and her stupid, silly little dress. She had no business on wearing something like that on a ship full of men. Not that he didn't trust his nakama, but what if? A woman could get unwanted things done to her, and what if, _what_ _if_ she wasn't strong enough to fight back? C'mon, she wasn't an idiot, was she?

Zoro shook his head and chuckled bitterly.

"Man, oh man."

He closed both eyes. Now he realized it.

Unless _that_ was her intention all along.

"Shit, shit. That woman—"

He took his opinion of her back.

She _was_ an idiot.

- - - - - - -

Zoro found her on the deck, staring into the blank horizon, still in that goddamn dress. He thought he saw her back stiffened at his presence, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure either on how to start a conversation with this woman. He never learned about these kinds of things before. Fortunately for him, he was spared the torture.

"You ruined my dress, you know," she said without turning to face him.

Hearing her accusing tone, Zoro forgot his nervousness and scoffed. "The hell I did."

"Wanna know how much I bought it?" she asked again.

Actually Zoro did NOT want to know because he had a very good hunch on what she would say next. Images of empty pockets and flying Berry notes came to mind. To humor her, however, he said, "How much?"

She finally turned around and gave him a look. "An amount you can never pay."

"Look," he began, "forget the dress for a while, okay? There's something—"

"Easy for you to say. It is not yours," she snapped.

"Why are you so pissed anyway? Can't you just wash it?"

"It's lipstick!" she cried.

He really didn't understand her logic. "So what? It's just a little spot!"

Nami held her stained skirt to his face. He saw a wet, angry blotch of pink—an obvious failed attempt at cleaning. "See this? This happened because you are a sloppy jerk."

He flushed. The memory on how the lipstick stain had gotten onto her dress was still crystal clear. He had wiped the red paint off his lips with the pristine white cotton, but what Zoro really didn't want to dwell on was how the lipstick came to him in the first place.

"I liked this dress," she continued, "a lot."

"Nami—"

"This is the first time I've worn it. And you just have to mess things up."

Zoro snorted. He refused to feel guilty. "Just because your dress got a stain on it, doesn't mean that the shitty cook won't notice you."

She stopped, stunned. "What did you say?"

"Look, face it. Why else would you wear it?"

She did not answer, but her stares hardened.

Zoro, thinking that he'd hit the right nerve, marched on. "If you want to kill the cook by nosebleed, go ahead. I don't care. But don't blame me for something little like a stain, because I know it doesn't matter."

He paused, and as an afterthought added, "So, I ain't paying."

That's it. Nami didn't know whether she should cry or laugh or both.

Without warning she grabbed the back of his head and brought their lips together. It was a rough kiss, but she never meant it to be anything but. She pressed on and after a breathless second or two, she let him go.

"You don't understand, do you? I am angry with you not because of this stupid stain. I'm angry because you _wiped it off_."

Silence.

He stared and stared, his mind a puddle of confused goo. For some reason, his brain was not taking the overload of information well. His lungs was still struggling for air, his lips still tingled.

A split second later, however, she elbowed him hard on the face and sent his head backwards.

"Oww!"

And left him on the deck, all alone, with a shiner the size of a saucer, and again, lipstick on his lips.


End file.
